His mouth quirked into a wiseass grin. “You’re a terrible liar, Kat.”
She tossed the pillow at him, and he laughed. Why did he have to be so casual about their affair? So flippant? “Don’t you care that I was thinking about another man?”
“Why should I? I’m the guy you’re sleeping with. The guy who’s making you—” he paused to waggle those wicked eyebrows “—you know.”
Good grief. “Such ego.”
“Damn straight.” He lunged across the bed and made her squeal, kissing her as hard and fast as he could.
Maybe he did care, she thought, as his tongue stroked hers, maybe he was more possessive than he was willing to admit.
And maybe not, she decided, when he let her go. Maybe he preferred waking up alone.
She climbed out of bed with the sheet wrapped around her. “I’m not making coffee in the nude.”
“Listen to you. Miss Priss Pot.” His sheet fell farther south. “I probably have just as much money as you do now, but you don’t see me behaving like a blue blood.”
Her mouth went dry. He was half-aroused and too damn gorgeous for his own good. “You’re not a blue blood. Besides, you wouldn’t know how to conduct yourself in a cultivated setting.”
“Like hell. I’ve been watching your kind for years.”
“My kind?” He made old money heirs sound like Airedales at a Westminster Dog Show. “Fine, Mr. Smarty Pants. Since you can handle my social scene so well, you can escort me to the aquatic gala at the end of the month.”
“Some boring charity event?”
“It isn’t boring. And you’d do well to donate some of that nouveau riche money of yours to charity.”
He flashed that grin again. “To save the mermaids?”
“To build an aquatic museum.” She held fast to her sheet. She wasn’t about to have this conversation in the nude, in spite of his appealing state of undress. “Do you own a tux? The male gender of my kind doesn’t rent them, you know.”
“I’ll buy an Armani just for the occasion.” He roamed his gaze over her. “Will Andrew be there?”
“Probably. We were supposed to attend the ball together. I imagine he’ll escort someone else.”
“Another Savannah mermaid? My, but the blue bloods like to play. Too bad my kind is so adept at stealing their womenfolk.” He climbed out of bed and yanked the sheet off her body.
Her knees wobbled like jellyfish. If only she could sting him. “Don’t you dare.”
“Don’t I dare what?” He smoothed his tousled hair. “Ravish you? Push you against the nightstand, open your legs and thrust right into you.” He shifted his stance, much too casual for a naked man talking about sex. “No foreplay, no condom. No apology.” He moved a little closer. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
A pulse in her neck fluttered. She could feel it dancing beneath her skin. “Why? Because you’re such a gentleman?”
“Because I want that coffee.” Without warning, he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder, caveman style, her legs dangling, her arms flapping.
When he patted her bare bottom, she screeched like the damsel she was, struggling, playing his off-beat game.
He carried her to the kitchen, but all she could see was the black-and-white linoleum moving past her eyes. Finally he plunked her on her feet.
In the next instant, they looked at each other and burst out laughing. Apparently, he’d forgotten that he’d set the timer on the coffeepot the night before. Naked or not, a fresh pot awaited them.
Hours later Katrina took ladylike sips of the iced tea her parents had provided. She sat in a leather chair in her father’s home office. Her mother sat in a similar chair and her father occupied his Chippendale desk. He looked like he was in charge, with his distinguished gray hair and stern posture. Even the custom-made humidor and imported cigars boasted power. But Katrina knew otherwise.
Her mother had called this family meeting. Delilah Beaumont didn’t look nearly as imposing as her husband. But looks could be deceiving. The aging Southern beauty, with her soft-spoken voice and delicate manners, was far from a shrinking violet or a wilting magnolia. Delilah had always been a woman to be reckoned with, especially for Katrina.
“We hired a private detective to run a background check on Clayton Crawford,” Delilah said. She lifted a file from her husband’s desk and placed it on her lap.
Appalled, Katrina could only stare.
“Andrew suggested it,” William Beaumont added.
Andrew. She should have known. “Why? Because Jenny told Andrew that Clay might have criminal ties? That his club could’ve been funded by mobsters?”
“Precisely.” Her mother’s genteel voice held no shame.
“And?” Katrina pressed.
“And there was no evidence of criminal activity.” The older woman opened the file. “His investors are quite legitimate. But,” she added, pausing to make her point. “someone had been smuggling drugs through his club. Dirty cops or some such thing.”
“Was Clay involved?” Katrina asked.
“No. But Steam isn’t the proper environment for a young lady of your station.”
“Steam? This isn’t about the club. This is about Clay. You’re trying to stop me from seeing him.”
“That man is using you.” Her mother sighed. “He’s spoiling your reputation.”
“He didn’t get me drunk, and he didn’t take advantage of me. All of that is a lie.”
Her mother arched her brows. Her golden brown hair was fashioned in an elegant twist, and a set of pearls decorated her ears. “Then you’re not sleeping with him?”
“Yes, I’m sleeping with him.” Katrina glanced at her father. But he remained quiet. “I like being with Clay.” She thought about the coffeepot incident. “He makes me laugh. He makes me feel good about myself.”
William spoke. “We don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Andrew hurt me, not Clay.”
“You hurt Andrew, too,” Delilah interjected. “This scandal is hurting all of us.”
Katrina finished her tea. In that respect, she knew her parents were right. On the other hand, she wanted to date Clay, to make her own choices. “I asked Clayton to escort me to the aquatic gala.”
Her mother’s face went pale.
“Maybe it’s better this way.” William spoke gently to his wife. “If Katrina and this young man attend a social function together, the gossip might die down. It might legitimize their relationship.”
“You mean their affair.” Delilah placed the file back on her husband’s desk. “How does one legitimize our daughter sleeping with the owner of a blues club?”
William picked up the file. “Clayton Crawford is a wealthy young man. A self-made man. He worked hard for what he has. There’s no shame in that.”
Katrina’s heart stirred, but she didn’t dare react. Not while her mother was still upset.
Finally, the Southern belle gained her composure. She met her daughter’s gaze. “If you insist on seeing Mr. Crawford, then I suggest you behave in a manner that doesn’t embarrass your father and me.”
Silently Katrina nodded, wondering if that were possible. She’d lost her inhibitions around Clay. When she was with him, Kat, not Katrina, took over.
“Do you have a dress for the aquatic gala?” her mother asked.
“Not yet.”
“Then I’ll take you shopping.” The older woman managed a cordial tone. “If everyone is going to be ogling you and your date, then we’ll make darn sure you’re wearing something stunning.”
Katrina agreed to shop with her mother, hoping Clay called her later. That he would invite her to Steam tonight, to listen to music, to dance.
To make love in new and wondrous ways.
Chapter 5
Clay looked across his desk at Michael Whittaker. Michael was the owner and CEO of Whittaker and Associates, a highly successful security-consulting firm. Whittaker and Associates had provided the initial security for the c
lub, but Michael was also Clay’s most trusted friend.
They’d only known each other for a few years, but they shared the discomfort of growing up poor, as well as the determination of clawing their way to the top. Although both were Native American mixed-bloods, they rarely discussed their parentage. In spite of the financial hardship Clay’s family had endured, his childhood had been blessed with love and understanding. Michael’s poverty-stricken youth bore the brunt of anger and infidelity.
Tonight the men occupied Clay’s office, nursing domestic beer and engaging in private conversation. Clay knew that Michael didn’t like conversing in public settings, but his life was always filled with high-profile clients and top-security assignments.
“I’m working for Abraham Danforth,” Michael said.
“Honest Abe II? You’re involved in his campaign?” Clay sat back in his chair. He’d never met the wealthy politician, but he intended to cast his vote in Danforth’s direction. The senatorial race was in full swing, and Clay thought Danforth seemed like a strong, stable candidate. “Is someone dishing some dirt on him?”
“I’m investigating a stalking.”
“Damn. Any leads?”
Michael nodded. “She identified herself as Lady Savannah in the threatening e-mails she sent to Danforth’s computer.”
“A female stalker? Has anyone seen her? Do you have a description of her?”
The other man took a swig of his beer. “Tall, slim, auburn hair, tinted glasses. But I’m keeping that under wraps for now.”
“I’m seeing a tall, slim woman with auburn hair.”
“Seeing? You mean sleeping with? I heard about the scandal. I know you’re messing around with Katrina Beaumont.” Michael’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’re doing quite a number on her reputation.”
“She doesn’t seem to mind.” Clay paused. “She’s not a suspect in the stalking, is she? You’re not—”
“No, I’m not here to investigate your lover.”
Of course not. Katrina wouldn’t have any reason to threaten a politician. Her family probably socialized at his fancy fund-raisers.
Tense, Clay picked up a paperweight. The small glass sculpture was a dolphin, a sea creature, a troubling reminder of the aquatic gala he’d agreed to attend. “I hope I’m not getting in over my head.”
“How so?”
“I think she’s starting to consume me.”
“Hot sex will do that to a guy.” Michael’s lips formed a quick, teasing smile.
“Yeah. But I’ve known her since we were teenagers. I’ve been attracted to her a long time.”
“So quit complaining and enjoy it.”
Clay chuckled. “Figures you’d say something like that. You probably haven’t been laid in months.”
Michael gave him a screw-you look, and they both laughed. The security consultant worked long, hard hours, rarely taking the time off for good behavior.
“Maybe Lady Savannah will give you some action,” Clay said.
“Oh, sure. That’s just what I need. A stalker for a girlfriend.”
They laughed again, appreciating each other’s sarcastic humor.
“I invited Katrina to the club tonight,” Clay said when they fell silent.
“And now you wished you hadn’t?”
He shrugged, put the paperweight down, then picked it up a second time. “I don’t know. I’m just not used to wanting someone this much.”
“I prefer a little space in my relationships, too. But it’s only an affair, right?”
“That’s the idea, except I agreed to go to a charity event with her.”
“A society date,” Michael mused.
Clay frowned at the dolphin. “I invited her to my mom’s house for dinner, too. We’ve got all sorts of dates lined up.”
The other man drained his beer. “Sex doesn’t come free. You’ve got to pay for it one way or the other.”
“I know.” But Clay hadn’t been expecting to pay for it with his emotions, at least not to this degree. “Her ex is still in the picture. I know damn well he’s going to want her back.”
“So let her go when it’s over. Stop driving yourself crazy with it.” Michael looked up. “Unless you don’t want to let her go. Unless that’s the problem.”
Clay glanced out the third-floor window and noticed it had begun to drizzle outside. The glass was misty, fogging the view. He wondered when the intermittent rains would stop. “I just need to get her out of my system.” He turned back to his friend. “That’s why I’m sleeping with her.”
“And that’s why you asked her to come to the club tonight,” Michael remarked.
“Exactly.” Clay blew a tight breath. Why else would he be so damn anxious to see her?
Steam was packed, primed for a Saturday-night showcase. Tall, tanned men prowled the perimeter of the dance floor while teased-and-sprayed women posed as eye candy.
Katrina looked around for Clay but couldn’t find him. Uncertain of what else to do, she turned toward the stage. Music flooded the room, as sleek and soulful as the female singer caressing the microphone.
She watched the other woman, admiring her coffee-colored skin and smoky voice. And then she felt someone move in behind her, someone tall, someone standing much too close.
He slipped his arms around her, and she leaned back, letting him hold her. When she turned her head to look back at him, he kissed her. Hot and slow. Sweet and silky.
Music to make love by, she thought. She wanted to strip Clayton Crawford, right here, right now, and put her mouth all over him.
They separated, facing each other, silent for a moment. He looked hard and masculine in the dim light, as intense as the cloud-shrouded sky.
“Would you like a drink?” he finally asked.
“I’ll take a soda. Ginger ale.”
“How about an appetizer?”
“Something spicy,” she decided.
He roamed his gaze over her. “I like what you’re wearing.”
“It’s a cat suit.” She spun around to model the skintight outfit, a black garment she’d bought just for him. “It’s all one piece.”
“A Kat suit,” he mimicked, gesturing to her, inserting her name into it.
“It has a zipper in the back.” From her neck to her tailbone.
“I noticed.” He gave a passing cocktail waitress their order, then led Katrina to a private table in the back of the club.
“What’s it like to live like this every night?” she asked.
“Music? Beautiful women? A successful business?” He held her chair for her. “A guy could do worse.”
She glanced around at the beautiful women, including the singer taking center stage. “They don’t all belong to you.”
He sat beside her. “Are you sure about that?”
“So you have a harem?” The idea boiled her blood, but she managed a noncommittal shrug. “Lucky you.”
Her ginger ale arrived, along with a club soda for Clay. The appetizer, chipotle-seasoned chicken strips, showed up a few minutes later.
She tasted the chili-spiked meat. It was hot, but it fit her mood. She motioned to the singer. “Have you slept with her, Clay? Is she part of your harem?”
“Gloria?” He gave the sultry singer an appreciative glance. “She’s married to her guitar player.”
Katrina refused to smile. “And what about her?” She indicated the prettiest cocktail waitress in the room. A leggy blonde with a sassy walk and enviable cleavage.
He studied his flashy employee. “I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
She lifted her chin. “So who’s in your harem?”
“You,” he said. “Only you.”
Suddenly she went warm, foolishly warm, right between her legs.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head, wondering if he’d turned her into a nymphomaniac. These days, she lived and breathed just for him.
They remained silent for a while, listening to music, nibbling the
chicken. Every so often, the candle on the table flickered.
He sipped his club soda, ice crackling in his glass. “Do you want to dance?”
“Yes.” Please, she thought. Anything for his touch.
He guided her to the dance floor and they found a cozy spot in the corner. The music was slow, the beat deep and sensual. She slipped her arms around his neck; he circled her waist. They moved to the rhythm, man to woman, lover to lover. When he dropped his hands a little lower, pulling her hips against his, she bumped his fly.
Katrina didn’t care if the entire world knew that Clay aroused her. She didn’t care if they were misbehaving in public. Steam had been created for moments like this, for couples who wanted each other.
They danced to the rest of the set and after the band left the stage, she asked him to take her on a tour of the club.
“A tour?” he questioned.
“I haven’t been everywhere.”
“There isn’t much left to see. Just the third floor.”
“What’s there?”
“Offices. Storage space.”
She took his hand. “Show me.”
He led her to a small staircase designed for employees. “It isn’t very exciting.”
“But it could be,” she remarked.
He paused on one of the steps and turned to look at her. “What are you up to?”
“A seduction,” she admitted, taking the rest of the stairs, letting her heels hit the wood like bullets.
He stopped at the top of the floor. “You’re going to seduce me?” He made a wide gesture. “Here?”
“You did it to me on the verandah.” She touched her earlobes, fussing with her jewelry. She wore diamonds at her ears and a small strand of rubies at her throat. To complement the look, she’d plaited her hair into a French braid, simply so he could undo it.
“What’s in here?” she asked, as they came to a closed door.
“Cleaning supplies. Are you going to seduce me in there?”
“Maybe.” She opened the door and pulled him inside. He laughed and she knew he was willing to play her game.
The Dare Affair: Summer In Savannah Anth. (Dynasties: The Danforths Book 6.5 Page 19
